All I Want For Christmas
by litvirg
Summary: A collection of fics filling the "12 Days of Christmas" Bellarke prompts
1. Chapter 1

**Day One: Secret Santa AU**

Clarke had spent hours, spent _days_, making her Secret Santa present perfect. It was meticulous. It was impeccable. It was beautiful. It was exquisite.

(She'd found the perfect picture of Bellamy and Octavia and painted and framed it. That was after she had already done a black and white sketch, a color sketch before she finally decided to paint it. And then she had spent nearly a week making sure that the final painting was _perfect_.)

So as much as she hated to be that guy, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed as she stared down at what her Secret Santa had gotten her.

Not that it wasn't nice, because it was. But that's really all it was. Just nice. Not personal, not meaningful, not even really catered to her. But it was nice.

A nice pair of knit socks. And matching gloves.

"Wow, these are…really soft!" She said, trying (and failing, she knew) to mask her disappointment. "Thank you, Santa, whoever you are."

She didn't want to be _that guy_. It wasn't a bad present. It wasn't as if she wouldn't use them or anything. But she had just been hoping for something a bit more personal.

Maybe she talked too much about the practical uses of things she bought. Did her friends think she only wanted practical gifts? She always appreciated them when they came from her parents, but she always thought her friends got her a bit more than that. Understood that she was frugal because she had to be, so when she found something she liked that she would use a lot she was excited that she could treat herself without feeling like she was spending money frivolously. Art majors didn't exactly have a lot of money.

But it was fine. The socks and gloves were cute and they looked warm, and they really were soft, so she tucked them into her lap and smiled at the group.

She looked up at the rest of her friends. Monty and Jasper were both looking at her incredulously, eyebrows raised. Octavia inexplicably looked furious—which Clarke wasn't even going to hazard a guess as to why. Raven looked like she was waiting for Clarke to burst out with how she really felt about the present, (sorry Raven), and Bellamy had almost no expression on his face, but a slight blush creeping up his neck. Probably from Monty's famous eggnog.

"Alright then," Octavia said. "Who's next?"

There was only one present left under their little tree. Bellamy's. Clarke suddenly felt very stupid. Very, very stupid.

She was about to make everything _so obvious_.

What had seemed like the perfect present only moments before now seemed woefully overdone and far too personal for a friendly Secret Santa present. And she wouldn't even be able to hide behind the anonymity Secret Santa usually offered, because she was the only one of her friends who could paint.

Her face was growing very, very red and very, very warm and antsy did not even begin to cover the level of unease she felt at staying in the living room with everyone. Her ribs felt like they were folding in on her because she knew that she only had about a minute left until every person in the world she knew and cared about found out her big stupid secret.

How dense was she? What was she thinking making this present? This was not something you gave a friend if you wanted him to maintain the idea that you wanted to be just friends.

Oh, god. She was so stupid, she needed to leave. She needed to leave right away. She couldn't wait another second.

"I, uh, I think I'm going to grab another cookie," she said as she moved to get up.

Bellamy's head snapped up and his gaze met hers, confused.

Octavia, however, had other thoughts. She grabbed Clarke's arm and yanked her back down. "Relax, Clarkey, your munchies can wait for one more gift."

"It's not—ugh, nevermind," Clarke said, sitting back down. She glanced back over at Bellamy who had turned his head away from her, looking down at his hands, blush fully creeping into his cheeks now.

"So, uh," he mumbled. "I guess it's my turn."

Monty smiled widely and scooped up his present from under the tree and moved across the room to hand it to him. He took it gingerly, eyes widening at its weight (it was the frame) and started peeling away the wrapping.

He pulled the framed painting from the remaining paper, and sat in complete silence. His eyes were wide and his jaw had dipped down, only slightly, but enough for it to be abundantly clear when he sucked in a surprised breath.

"You gonna share with the class there, Bellamy?" Raven teased from her seat on the chair across from him.

"Yeah, Bell, come on," Octavia urged. "Let us see."

Bellamy shook himself, blinking and flipped the painting around.

Clarke wants to burrow herself into the couch cushions and die.

"Holy shit," Raven say. "Well my gift sucks compared to that."

Everyone nodded in agreement, but Clarke wasn't looking at any of them. She was looking at Bellamy who was staring back at her, eyes blown wide, with an expression she couldn't even begin to identify but was horrified would turn out to be pity.

Now. Now she had to leave.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, now I think I will go get that cookie." Without waiting for an answer she pushed herself up off the couch and went into the kitchen. She walked right past the tray of cookies and moved in front of the sink. She braced her hands on the sink and tried to steady her breathing and will the blush that was heating her cheeks away. When that didn't work she turned on the cold water and splashed it on her face. She didn't feel better, but she certainly didn't feel worse.

That is until she turned around and saw Bellamy standing in front of her, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking at her in a way that made her want to melt right into the floor.

"Clarke," he said. "God, I'm…I'm so sorry."

She nearly whimpered. This, this pity, was something she couldn't not handle. He knew and he was trying to be nice about it and let her down gently, and it was so humiliating and she needed to evaporate. Pronto.

"No, Bellamy, you really don't need to—"

"No," he interrupted. "No I really do. I'm sorry, my gift was such shit compared to what you got me. I mean," he gestured incoherently around the air in front of him. "It's beautiful, Clarke. It's perfect. No one has ever given me something like this before."

"It was nothing," she said, still trying to brush it off as no big deal.

"It's not nothing. It's amazing." He scrunched his eyebrows looking down at his feet, only for a moment before he seemed to shake himself out of it and forced himself to look back up at Clarke. "And the thing is, I got you that stupid present because I was so afraid that I would give myself away if I got you a present that you really deserve, and I didn't want to weird you out by giving you something way too personal, but now I'm kicking myself because while you're over there with a pair of socks, I got something you poured your heart into and it really just doesn't seem fair."

He waited for her to say something. But she was honestly having trouble catching up with everything he was saying.

"Give yourself away?" was all she could manage.

Bellamy took a step closer. His hand moved to reach out to her, but he pulled it back before he did. His face was much closer than it had been, and if he would just have dipped it down a bit, their lips would have been touching. But he stayed where he was.

"Clarke, come on," he whispered. "Put me out of my misery here."

She reached her hand out and ran her fingers along his jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head into her touch so she just kept running her hands up and down his face, down to his neck and back up again. He seemed breathless and she didn't quite understand what was happening but she wasn't going to question because her heart was beating as fast and erratically as he seemed to be breathing, and when he leaning his forehead down onto hers, she couldn't take it anymore.

She tilted her head forward, pushing aside any space between them, and pressed her lips to his. His hands finally left his sides, and he slid them under the hem of her sweater, pressing his palms into her lower back, and just kept them there, anchoring her to him.

She only pulled away long enough to mumble "I guess this makes up for the total shit present," against his lips before he was laughing and pulling her back into him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bellamy hated Christmas. He hated the stupid old Christmas Carols that people on Earth used to sing, that now echoed around the halls of the Ark as his people clung to out of some strange desperation for the survival of Earth's traditions. He hated the plastic mistletoes hung from doorways, and the stupid tacky (plastic) wreaths hung on everyone's doors. He hated the decorations and wrapping paper and bits of food lying around because people couldn't be bothered to stop their merry making for one moment to clean up after themselves. Of course not, why do that when they had him to clean up after them?

He was in a sour mood.

It was his first Christmas alone. His mom had been floated only weeks before, and his sister Octavia—the only person he cared about on this godforsaken tin can, who he had consequently gotten arrested—was locked up in solitary confinement. And it was all his fault.

(And if he had to duck into a corner every time he walked past a party to force himself to slow his breathing and wipe his the sweat that had begun trickling down his forehead, and squeeze his eyes shut to block out the image of Octavia being torn from a party just like all those, then that was just an additional item on his list of reasons to hate this stupid holiday).

So now he was mopping up and down the corridor just outside the sky box, because nothing said "celebrate" quite like partying directly outside the cells of those who were alone, probably preparing themselves to get floated in the recent future, apparently. It made him sick.

How many other innocent kids were locked up, forced into a tiny box, all by themselves, On Christmas, for crimes that were probably not even that bad? Crimes that may have been the fault of someone else. How many other kids were forced to sit there and listen to people being happy with their friends and family through the walls of their tiny gray rooms, while they sat there alone?

He tried not to picture Octavia, sitting against the wall, pounding her fists on the door, railing at them to shut the hell up, or to find somewhere else to party, but he knew that's what she would have been doing.

He tried not to think about it. But the harder he tried, the more he saw it. His sister, his baby sister, his only family, the only person whose bond to him had ever meant anything, alone and scared and angry on Christmas.

_Fuck this_, he thought.

It was a stupid holiday, no one was religious up here. They couldn't be. You didn't live through life on the Ark and still hold out hope for a God or a heaven, which made the whole idea of celebrating the birth of that god's son a little irrelevant.

But his people (they're people—the Ark's people) loved any excuse to celebrate.

_Fuck this. _

He kicked his cart, hard, sending it slamming into the wall across from him, crashing into the door of a cell across from him.

"Jesus Christ, enough already," a voice shouted from behind the door. "We get it. Merry fucking Christmas. Now find somewhere else and leave us here to rot in peace."

Clarke had been on edge all evening.

She'd forgotten the date—forgot it was Christmas. Time moves a bit differently when you're shoved into a cold gray box by yourself for months.

It was the first Christmas she would ever spend alone. She'd never spent Christmas alone. She was always with her dad and her mom, and usually Wells and Thelonious Jaha came by too.

Well. Not this year.

(Or ever again, she had to remind herself bitterly. It wasn't like this cell was a temporary situation).

But it seemed like everyone else on the Ark remembered the holiday. Not only did they remember, but they seemed hell bent on celebrating it in every nook and cranny of the ark, including the corridor outside all the cells.

_How charitable of them_, she thought sardonically, _to bring the holidays to those less fortunate_.

Which is why when one final ruckus sounded just outside her door, she snapped.

"Jesus Christ, enough already!" She got up and pounded on the door. "We get it. Merry fucking Christmas. Now find somewhere else and leave us here to rot in peace."

She huffed and slid down against the wall, back to the door. What was wrong with these people? Didn't they realize how horrible they were being?

She heard someone shuffle outside her doorway, and the sound of someone cleaning up. Then a throat cleared.

"Uh, sorry about that. It wasn't a party, or anything, those guys left a while ago," a voice called from outside her door. There was a pause before he continued. "I, uh. I kicked my cart and accidentally sent it crashing into your door. Sorry."

She immediately felt a bit bad (not completely remorseful mind you, she was still the one stuck in a cell) about yelling at the guy who was just trying to clean up the mess. Especially since he had to work on Christmas.

"Oh," she said. "No, that's—that's alright." She didn't know what else to say, but she hadn't spoken to anyone in months, and it would be nice to not be alone on Christmas. At least for a minute or two.

"Sorry you have to clean up after those assholes," she settled on.

"Sorry you had to listen to them. Bit tasteless, coming up here," he said.

"Bit obnoxious to make you clean up after them on Christmas. As if you don't have people you'd rather be celebrating with." She'd always thought that it was stupid to make the janitorial staff work on Holidays. If people wanted to throw parties, they should learn to clean up after themselves.

"Actually," he said, voice a bit strained. "I volunteered to work today. Not really in the Christmas mood."

"Well, that I understand."

There was a long silence. She was afraid he'd gone away, but she didn't hear him wheel his cart, or hear footsteps retreat back down the corridor. But he hadn't said anything in over a minute.

"You still there?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?" he joked.

"Hardy har har." But she was laughing. God, she hadn't laughed in so long. It felt good.

"What's your name?" she heard him ask over her laughter.

"Clarke. Clarke Griffin." He hummed in response, but didn't offer anything else. "What's yours?"

He hesitated. "Bellamy Blake…janitor, extraordinaire."

She'd heard that name before. He was a cadet not so long ago. A really promising one too. One of the best the Ark had seen in years.

"You weren't always a janitor."

It wasn't a question. She remembered. She'd kept up to date on everything happening on the Ark before she was locked up. It was just a habit with her, having a councilor for a mother.

"No." His voice was small. "I wasn't."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Want to talk about why you're locked up in there?" he countered.

Okay. That was a no then. And he sounded mad, snappish. She heard him shuffling around when she didn't answer.

"Please don't go," she said, quieter. She wasn't even sure he heard her until she heard his back slide along the door to the cell once more.

"So," she started, carefully. "Want to tell me about the most ridiculous thing you've seen those assholes do today?" She wanted to laugh again.

He laughed. "Oh god, where to begin Clarke?"

He sat there for hours, head leaning against the door, talking with her not noticing how late it was quickly becoming. He shifted once or twice, laying down, head tilted toward the crack and the bottom of the door, and then back to sitting against it when he felt his next grow sore.

She was brilliant—everything she said. He never wanted to stop talking to her. It was only when he moved to take off his watch—the band had been digging into his wrist—that he noticed the time.

"Shit," he said.

"What? What is it?"

"It's late—nearly curfew. I have to go."

She didn't say anything for a moment or two.

"Alright," she said eventually. "Well, thank you."

"For what?"

She sighed. "For…I don't know. Staying. Talking to me."

He smiled softly to himself, glad she couldn't see the blush creeping up his face.

"Merry Christmas, Clarke."

"Merry Christmas. Bellamy."


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke had been avoiding Bellamy for a week.

(It was all Raven's fault really.)

About a week before, Raven had been to the bar Bellamy works at. She'd had a total shit week and since she was one of Octavia's closest friends (beaten out for title of Best Friend only by Clarke) he'd let her stay after closing. He was the one who was supposed to lock up anyway. So they'd stayed and they'd had a few drinks.

And then a few drinks turned into Bellamy being really glad that he had decided not to drive, since he lived close enough to walk (though walking probably wasn't a good idea at that point either…no. Maybe a cab. A cab would be better), and Raven was even more plastered than he was and she lived all the way across town, and no way was she going to be able to make it up the five floors to her apartment without help.

"Why doesn't your building have an elevator again?" he asked her as he ushered her outside the bar and moved to lock up the door.

"Shut up, Blake, and help me hail a cab."

So he'd offered to let her crash on his couch because it was closer, and that way he wouldn't have her blood on his hands if she got to the fourth floor and drunkenly stumbled all the way back down, cracking her head open or snapping her neck or dying in some other ridiculous stair-related death. And she was Octavia's friends, and his friends really, now that he thought about it, and he wasn't going to send her off on her own in the city at three in the morning, when he could just as easily toss a pillow and some blankets onto his couch and call it a night. And she seemed to really need a friend.

And it would have been fine, except Bellamy was at the morose phase of drunkenness and Raven was feeling pretty clingy after the several shots of tequila she'd had at the bar, and he hadn't exactly noticed that she was rubbing her hand up and down his arm as he led her into his apartment, and when he did notice he was too drunk to really make sense of it, and he thought that maybe that's how all girls were when they were drunk.

It wasn't until Raven pulled him in for a kiss that he figured it out.

The problem was, he still kissed her back.

Because she was a good kisser and it'd been so long since he'd actually kissed someone and he realized he missed it. He really liked kissing people. And he was good at it. And any sort of human contact with people other than Octavia was pretty much non-existent in his life. And he knew Raven and he knew she wasn't waiting for him to declare his undying love for her or anything, so one kiss couldn't cause too much damage.

Then he thought of why he hadn't kissed anyone and abruptly pulled away from her, all the warmth dropping out of his body, leaving him in a cold, icy chill.

"Shit," he said.

Raven didn't seem too phased. "Yeah," she said. "I figured that would be your reaction."

"I'm sorry, I'm just…" he trailed off, unsure of exactly what he was or how the fuck to even begin to explain it.

"In love with Clarke?" she supplied.

His eyes snapped up to hers at that.

"What, I mean why—"

Raven smiled and grabbed the pillows from the middle of the couch and slid them off so they were leaning on one of the arms.

"It's pretty obvious," she said simply. "I mean not to Clarke," she amended when she saw his panicked expression. "But to pretty much everyone else. Don't worry, I'm not trying to get in the way of true love or anything. I just had a shit day and you were there. I'll find someone different tomorrow, no worries."

Bellamy nodded, still unsure about how he actually felt about everything that just happened and everything she was saying, but Raven's words were floating around his mind and deep down he knew she was right, but if he didn't say it out loud then he wouldn't have to deal with it.

So he'd kissed Raven, who cared? She said it wasn't anything, and it definitely wasn't anything more than a good kiss to him, so that would be that.

Except that wasn't that.

Because two days after that, they were all at Monty and Jasper's apartment for their Christmas party. All of them; him, Clarke, Octavia, Monty, Raven and Jasper.

And Monty and Jasper seemed to be pretty big fans of stupid, antiquated Christmas traditions, which is how he found himself under the mistletoe with Clarke and no way out.

"Rules are rules, Bellamy," Jasper taunted.

"Yeah, your rules, not mine," he muttered back.

Jasper grinned. "And whose apartment are we in?"

So Bellamy turned to Clarke whose neck was flushed a deep red, and it was creeping up to her cheeks and Bellamy had two choices. He could make it count, or he could play it safe.

Normally, he would have said to hell with it all, and given her a real kiss, but Clarke was Bellamy's exception and right as he was leaning his face down to hers, ready to lay it all on the line, he felt that icy chill that he had felt just two days before, and he chickened out, and placed a small polite kiss on Clarke's lips, before quickly pulling away.

And then Raven opened her mouth.

"Oh come on Bell, you kiss better than that," she teased, trying to urge him to give Clarke a real kiss.

All that happened though, was Clarke looked up at Bellamy and then looked between them, eyes wide in understanding. Her face was fully read, and she pushed herself away from him as she stumbled out of the doorway and down the hall, into the kitchen.

Bellamy turned to Raven, jaw dropped, not even able to form a sentence.

"Oh," Raven said softly. "Shit."

Bellamy hit his fist against the wall. "_Fuck_."

He'd tried to talk to her right after. He'd followed her into the kitchen and explained what happened the other night, how it was just a kiss and they were both drunk as hell, and nothing happened.

All she'd said was "It's not like you have to explain yourself to me, Bellamy, it's none of my business. Do whatever you want with Raven." And then she'd left the kitchen.

And then, after the party she started dodging his calls, and not answering his texts. Whenever he tried to see her, she'd brush him off and say that she was busy with work or not feeling so good, or she had plans with someone else.

It was driving him crazy. And after about a week he couldn't take it anymore.

He wound up at her apartment. He'd found the leather bracelet he made her about a year ago on Octavia's kitchen counter the day before, so he'd snuck it into his pocket and decided to use it as an excuse to go see her.

(It was a weak excuse, he'd admit. But he was crumbling, here).

She pulled the door open when he knocked, which he took as a good sign, since she didn't just look through the peephole and decide to leave him standing like an idiot. She waited for him to speak first.

"Can I, uh, can I come in?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure," she said blankly, moving aside to let him pass.

He pulled the bracelet out of his pocket. "Octavia said you forgot this at her place."

"Oh," Clarke said, plucking the bracelet out of his hand. "Thanks."

She put it down on the table next to the door and walked into the kitchen. He tried not to read too much into it, but it was hard, seeing as she'd worn that bracelet every day since the day he gave it to her, and the last time he'd seen it on her had been at the Christmas party.

"Clarke," he said. "I really, really need to talk to you. I'm going crazy here."

"Bellamy, I just—"

"Please. Please just let me saw what I have to say and then you can kick me out and never speak to me again if that's what you want. Please."

She closed her mouth and nodded.

"I meant it when I said that the kiss between me and Raven was nothing. It was. It was less than nothing. It was stupid and I shouldn't have kissed her back, but I did and I can't take that back even though I desperately wish I could. It didn't mean anything, and I pulled away as soon as I realized how much I was fucking up, because there's a reason I haven't kissed somebody in so long, and it's because every time I even get close, it's your face that pops into my head, Clarke and it's been like that for so long and I just need you to know that the kiss with Raven meant nothing to me. And I wish you hadn't been forced to kiss me under that stupid fucking mistletoe because if I got to kiss you for real, if I got to actually kiss you because you wanted me to and not because you had Monty on one side and Jasper on the other pushing you towards me, then it wouldn't be nothing because it would everything I've been too afraid to admit to you. And I know you said you don't care but I just had to—"

"Bell?"

"Yeah?" he looked up hopefully. Her eyes were wide, but nothing like how they looked at that stupid party and her cheeks looked flushed, but she wasn't embarrassed or ashamed and she was suddenly a lot closer to him than he thought she was.

"Shut up."

He made to argue, but she closed the distance between them, snaking a hand into the hairs at the nape of his neck to tug him closer, and he quickly complied, shooting one last glance to the ceiling to make sure there was no blasted green branch dangling up above them.

(There wasn't).


	4. Chapter 4

The med bay had been swamped for days. Clarke knew it was the weather. Winter made people stupid and accident prone, and even though they had been on the ground for a few years now, her people still seemed surprised and exhilarated at the idea of snow, while being completely unprepared for the reality of it.

People we slipping on ice, scraping themselves up; or the getting cut from fallen icicles because they still forgot to move quickly when passing under them. Some of them just got sick because they forgot that taking care of yourself in the winter was different than taking care of yourself in the summer, or they spent too much time cooped up in their shelters with people who forgot how easy it is for germs to spread when everyone is confined to the same space. Some were particularly reckless and decided to forgo the extra blankets being passed around, or hadn't bothered to mend their torn winter clothes from the last cold season and she wound up having to deal with two cases of frost bite and one of mild hypothermia.

So the med bay had been packed, ever since the snow moved in.

Which is why she was more than a little annoyed that Bellamy seemed to be choosing the busiest time of year for her to be the time that he stopped being careful, and started getting a new injury every day.

The first day was just a little cut over his eyebrow. She'd sat him down on a cot and went to get the small med kit, pushing all her other patients off onto Octavia-and Monty who liked to help out when things got busy-despite all his protests.

"It's really not that bad, Clarke," he said. "I can wait until everyone else is taken care of."

She'd rolled her eyes. For a co-leader, he really had no idea how things worked in here.

"By the time everyone in here is taken care of, there will just be a new wave of people coming in and crowding the beds. It's fine, I'll just take care of it now."

"Or," he countered, "you could let me go back to, oh I don't know, running this camp, and you can wait until you close up the med bay to slap a bandaid on me."

Clarke ignored him. She got her vial of disinfectant and poured some onto a clean towel.

"I need to clean it before I slap a bandaid on it," she said reaching up to his eyebrow and brushing aside some of the hair that had fallen in his face. She dabbed the towel on the cut and he hissed, whether in pain or shock she wasn't sure. "I'm not going to let it sit around untreated, it could get infected."

"It's a tiny little scratch, Clarke."

"It's a head injury, and probably not your only one."

At that he smirked and relaxed into her touch a little.

(She knew he was always a terrible patient, but really it was just because he didn't want to be taking time or resources away from someone who really needed Clarke's attention. If she at least made him feel like he wasn't getting special treatment he would eventually stop being so fussy).

"Fine," he capitulated. "But clean me up quickly, I can put my own bandaid on, and I've got work left to do today."

The second time he had a much bigger cut along his collar bone.

She didn't see him enter the med bay, so when she turned around and saw him pressing an old rag to his bloody wound, she was startled first, then furious.

"Bellamy what the hell!" She shouted.

He looked up innocently. "What?"

"Do you want me to start with demanding to know what the hell you were doing to cause this, or do you want to explain why you thought it would be a good idea to grab an old, germ infested rag to clean up your wound first?"

"I needed something to stop the bleeding," he shrugged.

"Oh my god, Blake," she said ripping the rag from his hands.

"Hey where are you going?" He called after her as she turned away.

"To get something that won't turn your bloody gash into a festering wound!" she shouted.

A black eye, three more nasty cuts, a broken finger and a dislocated shoulder later she finally snapped and told Bellamy that he better quit whatever the hell he was doing and start taking care of himself, or she was going to sic Jasper on him to watch him full time.

With his sheepish bow of the head and noticeable blush covering his ears, she thought that she'd taken care of the problem.

The next time, she was standing across from the med bay doors, watching her patients trickle in when she saw him.

He was limping.

She dropped the tools she had been cleaning into the bucket and hurried over to him, pulling his arm across her shoulder and guiding him to the nearest cot.

"What happened?" she asked, kneeling down in front of him.

He was trying to pretend like it was nothing, probably afraid to admit to anything too severe after her freak out on him last time, but she could tell he was in pain. His fists were clenched at his side and his knuckles were white and his smile was tight and forced and not at all the smile she was used to seeing on him.

"Tripped," he grit out. "Can't see the damn roots in the snow."

Gingerly she peeled his boot of and started examining his ankle, trying not to wince or hesitate every time she heard him suck in a breath. She pulled her hand away.

"I'm going to wrap it, okay?" He nodded. "And you're going to have to stay off of it for a few days-"

"But-"

"I have some crutches you can use until then. But Bellamy," she paused waiting for him to meet her gaze. "I mean it. Stay off of it until I clear you. I don't want you to make it worse-or more likely with your luck lately, for you to walk on a busted ankle and cause yourself another injury."

He nodded glumly and let her wrap up his ankle, taking the crutches before he made his way sluggishly out of the med bay and over to his own shelter where she had ordered him on bedrest for the remainder of the day.

When she had finished working for the day, Clarke closed up the med bay and started making her way to her own shelter before she had a thought and ran right back.

She grabbed a pain relieving salve that Lincoln had taught her to make, slipped it in her bag and made her way over to Bellamy's tent.

It was late, and she figured Bellamy would be asleep (as he'd probably spent his entire afternoon crutching himself back and forth across his room despite Clarke's warnings, and had probably worn himself out) but she was just going to pop in and leave it with a note on his table anyway.

When she slipped inside though, she was not met with the sight of a sleeping Bellamy, but rather a Very Awake Bellamy, shirtless, sitting up in his bed, startled.

And also covered collar bone to hip in blue and purple bruises.

"Clarke?"

"Oh my god," she breathed, stepping next to his bad, brushing her finger tips across his bruised up chest. "What the hell happened to you? Are you alright?"

He looked down, remembering he was bare from the waist up and quickly moved to pull a shirt over his head.

"It's nothing, I fell a few times is all."

"Fell a few times?" Clarke imitated. "No way that's what this is-"

"You here for a reason, Clarke?"

She pulled her hand back and shuffled through her bag, holding up the jar of salve.

"It's a pain reliever. Lincoln taught me to make it. I thought it might help with your ankle. Though now that I see you..." She trailed off, eyes dipping back to his now covered torso.

"Right. Well, thanks," he said.

That was probably him dismissing her, she thought. But she really didn't want to go, not when he was like this, beaten and in pain and keeping things from her.

"You should put it on," she blurted out. "Right now. It works best when the wounds are fresh."

She had no idea if that was true. But if it got Bellamy to actually do something to ease his pain then what did it matter, right?

"Okay," he said, peeling off his shirt and waiting for her to hand him the jar.

Instead, she sat down on his mattress, facing him and started unscrewing the cap to the salve.

"Clarke, what are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Helping a patient."

He looked like he was going to argue more, but he bit his tongue (not literally, she hoped. The last thing he needed was another wound) and crouched on his knees so that she was no longer forced to lean over his legs. She mirrored his position and put a generous amount of salve on her fingers (she was amazed he didn't say anything about saving some for other patients when she did that) and gently pushed her fingers into the hot skin of his chest. She swirled it around with the pads of her fingers and then pressed her palms into his skin, rubbing it into the blue and purple blotches smattered about his chest.

He sucked in a breath, and she made to move her hands away, afraid she'd hurt him but he grabbed her by the wrists and guided her palms back to his chest. He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I was ice skating," he said.

"What?" she pulled her head back confused.

He shut his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for whatever he was about to say, unconsciously (she thought) running his thumbs along the back of her hands.

"Octavia said you liked to ice skate, so I wanted to take you. I found a pond far enough away that no one would stumble upon it or ask for you to come back to camp to fix whatever the hell problem they'd managed to create in the hour or so you'd be gone. But I don't know how to ice skate. I was trying to teach myself."

He was so quiet and embarrassed about it, and it was the sweetest thing Clarke had ever seen so before she thought it through she leaned her head forward against his. She nosed her way along his jaw, dropping soft kisses as she felt his breathing grow heavy, and made her way back up to his own lips, covering them with her own.

He only pulled away when he felt her smirk against his lips.

"What?"

She even giggled. "You must be a terrible ice skater."

"Oh shut up," he grumbled. He dropped his lips down to her neck. "I'm good at other things."


	5. Chapter 5

The first snow of the season was a blizzard.

Which would have been bad enough, considering Bellamy couldn't actually get to work, and he really needing the money since Christmas was just about to bleed him dry. But he didn't even have the comfort of being stranded in his own home.

What was even worse was he was stuck, alone, in the apartment of the one person he really could not be alone with.

He heard footsteps coming from the far bedroom. _Speak of the devil_, he thought.

"Well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Bellamy smirked at Clarke as she meandered out of her bedroom, hair mussed, eyes still sleepy. "Prince Charming keep you up late last night?"

Why, _why_, did he feel the need to say that? The absolute last thing he wanted was to picture that slimy git keeping Clarke out late.

"God, why are you here?" she snarled. She pulled a huge mug from the shelf and filled it to the brim, bringing it close to her face to close her eyes and breathe it in.

"Not happy to see me, Princess?"

She just glared at him.

"Octavia let me crash here last night, but snuck out again to go see Lincoln when she thought I had fallen asleep."

Clarke just grunted in response. She pulled some bread out and popped it in the toaster.

"She knows that you know about Lincoln, right?" Clarke said a few minutes later, when about half her cup of coffee was gone.

Bellamy shrugged.

"Anyway," she continued. "Why are you still here?"

Fantastic. Apparently she wanted him there less than he wanted to be there. He set down the book he was reading and moved around her to put his dishes in the sink, passing her the toast as it popped out of the toaster.

"Why don't you look out the window, Sleeping Beauty?"

She bristled at the nickname and she he counted it as a win.

"Oh, shit," she breathed looking at the snow pouring out of the sky. "I guess I'm not going to work today."

"Nope. Stuck with me."

She groaned.

It wasn't that she hated Bellamy. She just couldn't stand to be alone with him. But it definitely wasn't her. It was all him.

She didn't get it. He was fine with everyone else. Especially Octavia (which made sense, he practically raised her. They were closer than any two people she had ever met). He and Monty got along, Jasper worshipped the ground he walked on, hell he even got along with Raven. It was just her. She was the only one he couldn't even pretend to like.

It wasn't always that way, either. When they'd first met, they got along fine. But after about a month he started snapping at everything she said—if he talked to her at all. It was infuriating and she had absolutely no idea what the hell his problem was.

So, no, she didn't particularly relish the thought of being snowed in, trapped in her tiny apartment with only him.

So far this morning, he skulked about her kitchen, while pestering her about "Prince Charming"—she was completely lost on who he was referring to when he said that—and basically just being an ass about her having a life outside of class and school. Then he'd scoffed at her when she said she was glad the semester was finally over.

"What?" she snapped at his scoff.

"Time off must be so hard to come by where you're from," he mocked.

There it was again. His biggest problem with her: her parents were rich. No need to mention the fact that her mother had cut her off when she'd decided to switch her major from pre-med to Fine Arts, or the fact that she worked two different jobs to keep up with her bills, and still allow for Octavia to pay the ridiculously low rent she started charging her when her mom was still helping her pay for school.

"Fuck you, Bellamy."

She dropped her plate in the sink and left him in the kitchen, slamming her bedroom door in case he hadn't quite got the message.

He knew what he said was out of line. It was way, way out of line. Yeah, Clarke had grown up a lot more privileged than he had, seeing as how he'd had to work since he was fourteen to help his mom take care of Octavia, but it wasn't as if she was living off her parent's money now. He knew she worked hard for everything she had.

He actually really admired everything she'd done since her parents cut her off. And frankly, he owed her—it was thanks to her that Octavia's rent stayed dirt cheap even after Abby Griffin cut her off.

He let her sit in her bedroom for about an hour before he tucked his tail between his legs and went to go apologize. He knocked softly on her door.

"Go away, Bellamy."

"Clarke, I'm really sorry. I was so far out of line," he said.

"No shit."

"Can you open the door for a second?"

He heard her get up off the bed and pad over to the door. She pulled it open, defeated.

"I really just don't get it, Bell, why are you—"

"Clarke stop." She snapped her mouth shut, and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Can we just…I don't know. Try this whole day again?" He waited, knowing it wasn't really enough, but hoping she would continue her habit of being the better person, and let him have this one thing.

She nodded.

He'd suggested a movie, and it seemed to go fine. Clarke was hilarious to watch movies with, actually. She talked over all the ridiculous or slow bits, adding in her own dialogue (which was better than most of the actual dialogue in his opinion), and by the time the movie was over, he had no idea what the actual plot was, but he was doubled over laughing.

"Hey look at that," she teased as he wiped a tear from his eye. "You're not a total asshole."

"And you're not a total stick in the mud," he joked right back.

She scooched toward him on the couch. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh," he stuttered. "Sure. What's up?"

"Look at us. We get along, right?" She actually looked hopeful, and he felt like a bigger jackass than ever.

"Yeah, Clarke, we get along."

"So, what's the deal? Why do you hate me?"

He didn't even know where to start. He never even considered this as a possible conversation for him and Clarke to have. Like ever.

"Clarke," he whispered. "I really, really don't hate you.

"Then what—"

He cut her off, leaning his head down and squeezing his eyes shut as he did what was probably going to be the biggest mistake of his life.

She froze and he felt a wave of embarrassment sweep over him and he jerked away from her, and sprang up from the couch, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

"Oh, god, I am so sorry Clarke, I swear that'll never—"

"Just shut up for a second," she whispered. "That's what all this was? Some weird defense mechanism? You like me so you…what? Push me away?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Basically."

She stood up and walked toward him, placing her hands on his chest.

"That's really stupid, Bell."

"Yeah. I know."

She leaned in close, mouth brushing his ear. "Don't do that again." And then her hands grabbed his shirt and pulled him in close, brushing her lips against his again.


	6. Chapter 6

She knew, logically, that getting the camp drunk on Monty's moonshine was probably not a good idea.

Their peace with the grounders was tentative at best, and if one unhappy spy made it into their camp, they'd just given him an all clear sign to do whatever the hell he wanted. They were slow and vulnerable and not thinking strategically.

But Bellamy had held out a bottle of what he said Monty was now referring to as his special holiday eggnog, and said "Come on Clarke, it's Christmas. Live a little."

She she'd taken it, because he was right it was Christmas, and as stupid as celebrating a holiday while they were in the midst of struggling to survive was, she couldn't deny that she wanted to.

But then she'd taken a second drink, one that came directly from the source, as Monty cheered her on and drank the whole thing much faster than she should have.

So now everything was spinning and she could only vaguely make out Jasper's voice as he went around and around the fire singing some old Earth Christmas carol, which no one else could join in on because he was keeping absolutely no beat at all.

It was a good kind of spinning though, she decided. It wasn't too fast, she could still make out the faces around her, they were just sort of swaying back and forth as she tried to hold on to a tree for balance.

It wasn't Christmas like she had ever seen before. Or like she had learned about. Before the war, families used to cut down trees and put them in their houses, decorating them with colorful lights and ornaments, they'd have red and green and gold splashed throughout their houses, and peppermint sticks made it into every desert, and in the days leading up to Christmas, more and more presents would make it under the tree. A huge feast would happen with a big family gathering and everyone would be happy and thankful, even if it was just a holiday for presents to them.

It was a bit different on the Ark. They still gave presents, small ones, usually homemade, but there would be no tree, no big feast or gathering of extended families in their little apartments.

The ground was different now. She didn't think the grounders still celebrated these old holidays—she guessed it was hard to keep any faith after what they'd seen. (She couldn't really blame them for that. It was hard for her too).

Monty had declared himself Santa Claus for their camp, and made enough of his "eggnog" the last the camp at least a week.

Well, she thought it would last a week. Apparently she didn't know anything about the drinking habits of delinquents at parties.

But it was okay, she thought. She'd rather be spending the holiday with these people, her people, than up with her mother and Jaha in the Ark. These people were her family now.

A very blurry family. She felt herself tipping.

"Whoa there, princess." She felt familiar hands grip her sides, steadying her back up. She shifted her grip from where it had loosened on the tree to Bellamy's shoulders.

"Not enjoying Monty's Christmas Eggnog?" She asked him, a bit too loudly.

He smirked down at her. "I think you're enjoying it enough for the both of us, actually."

"Come on, Blake. Lighten up."

A young kid stumbled by and she yanked his bottle out of his hand, ignoring his protest.

"Here," she said, shoving it toward Bellamy. "I think he's probably had enough."

She waited with a cocked eyebrow until he took a sip.

"Happy, princess?"

She crossed her arms.

"It's a start."

Bellamy was a touchy drunk.

Not that Clarke minded, really. She just didn't expect it. He kept everyone (well, everyone who wasn't Octavia, anyway) at an arm's length, so it was just a bit strange for her to see him transform into this handsy guy.

He was laughing and touching her shoulder or brushing her knee, or grabbing her elbow as he explained something, putting his hand on the small of her back to show her something.

His eyes were blown wide too, and there was a permanent blush etched between his freckles.

"C'mere," he said, wrapping his fingers around her bicep. "I want to show you something."

He dragged her away from the fire, through the gate and a little further out into the woods until they stopped at a river letting out into a spring.

"What is it?" Clarke asked. "That you wanted to show me?"

Bellamy laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Look it's just…just there, you see?" he pointed to the far end of the spring. "The light from the moon kind of filters through the trees a bit, you see?" he waited until she looked. She guided her eyes to where he was pointing and saw a glimmering layer of light on the surface of the spring.

"Looks a little bit like the lights people used to put on their trees, doesn't?" he said, dragging his arm down away from her bicep until he was holding on to her wrist.

"Yeah, it really does."

She looked away from the spring and turned to him. He was watching the water reflect the light unevenly and he had a goofy smile on his face, a smile that she had never seen on him and even though she knew it was just the eggnog making him act like this, she was glad he was sharing it with her instead of with somebody else.

She felt him tug her closer and she smiled.

"So," she broke the silence. "Did Monty Claus bring you everything you wanted for Christmas?"

He looked over at her, goofy grin still in place. He had never looked less like the man who stayed up most nights, worried about his people, the man who put everything on the line to lead them, and she was glad that he got this one night to act his age.

"He got me pretty damn close to what I wanted," Bellamy answered and Clarke blushed, thinking of the many cups of eggnog Bellamy drank in front of her. She was sure he wouldn't normally say something like that.

He dipped down closer to her. "Stop thinking so hard, princess. I know what I'm saying." And then he dipped down and covered her lips with his. He tasted like smoke and wood and eggnog and she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, knowing she tasted the same.

He pulled away to catch his breath. "Remind me to thank Monty Claus tomorrow."

**A/N: I know there were supposed to be twelve fics to fill the twelve prompts, but I started super late and the past few days have been crazy, so I skipped to the last ptompt, and I'm stopping with this one. Thanks for sticking it out! I always love to hear your thoughts :)**


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